My love was a marionette
by the Unrequited Lover
Summary: Ginevra Weasely was a little doll, and when Tom Riddle told her to dance, she danced, when he said sleep, she slept, and her sleep was tainted with him but can he himself pull away from her? For he poured his soul into his marionette...
1. Tears

Her back was sore, and she ached all over...oh, the cold, it seeped right through to her bones, her very blood seemed frozen. She opened her eyes a crack...she could see her eyelashes, barely...weak pale things, they were...

Oh, but he looked as though he were underwater....but that was because her eyes were filled with tears...and she could barely see him, her love, her heart, her angel and her guardian... .the only one to have ever touched her like that, or said those words.

He was content to just leave her there, like that, but she didn't want him to....how could he, after all that had happened?

"Please," she begged, she pleaded, surprised at the weakness of her voice, but then surprised that she could speak at all...by all rights, he shouldn't have even been able to her- but the bond that they shared, oh, it knows no boundaries.

Hey knelt beside her and tentatively touched her face, then held her trembling hand in his. The tears were falling....

And then he clutched at her hand so hard that his nails pierced her skin, and he stood stiffly and left.

"Don't, no.." she wept, but he didn't return, just stood in the shadows. Her voice was a hook in his heart, and she knew it tugged at him, ripping and shredding the threads and strings that held it together. Some believe that those who want power, they are weak...but she knew that he was stronger than anyone she had ever met before, anyone she ever would....

He would not turn, and it would crush her soul, but he would not cry for her, and although he was not oblivious to the pain, he could withstand it. Because he had been string, and she had been weak.

Ginevra Weasely was only eleven. And Tom Riddle was only sixteen, in a manner of speaking. And she did not have the power nor the knowledge, at age eleven, to fight him.

He had been right when he had told her that she would die in the Chamber of Secrets, even if he did not know why.

_ My mind was screaming at me to write this, and it's random, but dark. Very dark. _


	2. Thorns

It was late autumn, Ginny's favourite time of year. She was running, running through a forest in god-knows-where, and she was looking for someone. She wasn't sure who...

Oh, but yes, she was. A boy, crouching over something, prodding at it with his wand. She rushed over to him, feeling happy, happier than she'd ever felt in her life.

She sat beside him and embraced him, then looked up into his eyes with complete trust and then froze.

His eyes were blood red, and he seized her wrists and began to pull her away. They were standing now, and it was winter, winter, cold and icy and as merciless as always. She was screaming at him, screaming and crying and writhing and he was only laughing at her. He was laughing, oh, there was no pity, no sympathy, no understanding in that laugh. Those who love are weakened by it, his voice was saying in her head.

"Please, Tom, please, oh god, Tom, don't," she wept, and she pulled at him harder, but he didn't listen, only laughed more.

He flung her into the thorns beside the house he dragged her to. They stabbed her skin, her eyes, and ripped her clothes.

"You will die," she sobbed.

"I may," he hissed, "but you, Ginny, you will die with me...for you put your soul in mine, and I put my soul in you."

And she screamed and screamed and screamed until her voice was hoarse, and her lungs would not obey, and her blood fell onto the snow and burnt through it like acid, because it was tainted. It was Riddle's blood now, and not her own. And yet...

But it was still blood, still red and shining and dark and thick and sweet.

_ My birthday's in autumn, November the second, the same as Marie Antoinette, who was beheaded. _


	3. Dreams

"Ginny!" Hermione cried, waking her up.

"What?"

"You were dreaming again. Clutching at your pillow. Are you sure you're alright?"

"What did I say?"

"You only said a single word," Hermione said, looking away.

"What did I say, Hermione?" Ginny bit her lip. A trickle of blood fell down it.

"Tom." She replied.

_Sometimes when I sleep, I see him. He doesn't know I can, I think, otherwise he wouldn't let me see him._

_Because he cries. He buries his head in his arms and tears trickle silently down his cheeks. I told Hermione. She understands more than I'll ever know. She tells me they're just dreams._

_They aren't just dreams. The diary was destroyed. But he was a memory._

_Imprisoned in a diary. Until Ginevra Weasely let him out. I was a fool to do that. It wasn't wise._

_But now his memory is not in the diary. Now it is in me. I remember you, Tom._


	4. Music

All of the dolls in my room are broken. Mother's dolls. She never had a girl before. As a matter of fact, I'm the first in the whole history of Weaselys for a very long time. Mother's old dolls were very pretty once. But then she left them alone.

Things break when they are alone. Tom is breaking. My love.

I took them out and played with them. I made them clothes. I even brought them to school, and I still do. I play with my dolls. I never used to, not until my first year, when I met Tom. He taught me to play with dolls, and I did.

Especially marionettes. I put on puppet shows for Tom. He used to laugh coldly and say, "You're my marionette, Gin. See how you dance for me?"

I danced. I danced until my feet hurt.

I had a dream like that. I was on Hermione's muggle music box instead of that little ballerina. Tom wound up the music box and I danced. Then Harry came in and made him vanish. But then Harry left and I was alone in the dark. Tom had wound me up and wound me up and I was still dancing for him, even if he could not see it. I danced until I danced myself away.

You see, Tom wound me up and I danced for him, like a marionette doll. Then Harry ruined the diary. But I'm still dancing. And no one hears the music.

No matter. He'll come back and watch me dance again. He never let me down before.

He tells me in my sleep. "Ginny, it was all a mistake. I wouldn't have let you die. You would be like that for a while, but do you really think that I didn't have the power to bring you back?"

He's the most powerful Dark wizard in the world. He could if he wanted to.

_A/n: dedicated to Unfortunate, who also wrote about marionettes. She should know right now that I am not stealing he ideas- I've been obsessed with marionettes. Everyone go read her story Puppet Queen and know that I didn't take her idea. I just happened to have the same idea as her._


	5. Voices

_For Monikka- I'm afraid of the tale myself but something compels me to let it unfold like a black rose..._

I am not awake...I never truly am.

I stood at my mirror last night for an hour. Mum is not home...neither is dad...they are with the order, and I, little Ginny, left home again. Ron is afraid to leave me alone.

He thinks it is because Sirius is dead. How little he knows. Sirius's image haunts Harry's thoughts, not mine...my thoughts are not truly haunted, for I could never exorcise Tom.

"Are you sure you're alright, Ginny?" Ron asked, his face pale, his hair vivid.

I had nodded.

Then I took a long bath.

When Hermione tries to calm herself, to cleanse herself of evil, she takes a hot bath, one that scalds her skin. I do not want to be cleansed. I bathed in cold, in almost icy water.

Then I stepped out and let the water drain...and I wrapped the towel around myself and looked in the mirror...

I sat myself, my lips blue, my eyelids weak and half-shut, my long hair dulled by the water, not so vivid, clinging to my bare shoulders.

My freckles are fading, it seems...a memory returns to me...

"You will have anything you want, and will banish anything, anything at all, if I have my way."

"_Can I banish my freckles, Tom?"_

_He laughed, and I shivered and let him hold me closer._

"_Of course, Ginny dear. When you are Queen you will be the most beautiful woman in the land. Men would drown themselves in the ocean for you, but you'll belong only to me..."_

I see a shape in the dark corners of the mirror.

Tom! How did you find me!

I spun around, staring, my heart beating so quickly that I fear my tiny chest will burst open and expose my elegant, bleeding little heart to the world.

He is no longer there. I am relieved yet also tormented. I turned back to the mirror, pleading.

"Tom, why do you run from me? Why do you only appear in my mind? My reflection? My dreams...."

His voice, harsh as ever, resounds in my ears... _because I exist only within you, Ginny, but you can let me out if you'd like..._

Again, the voices. I pulled on jeans, a red shirt to ward him away- he always preferred green- and I vanished into my room, to sleep. Which is where I am now.

It's dark. How dare he choose this night, of all nights, to not visit me?

I will wait. I will sleep myself into death if need be.


	6. Ashes

It's a dark room, and suddenly he is in it.

"You kept me waiting," I sat, wet and cold, dripping.

"You want me here now?" he taunts.

"I do."

"Then it's done."

And suddenly I am falling, falling, there is no hole I the ground, there is no ground, Tom, how could you, how, oh why, you're not with me, not at all, you said you would be....

His voice sneers in my ears, and my head, and all around me, ringing, silver bells off in the distance, "You are never alone...I am always with you, whether you want me or not."

Suddenly my passage is halted-

I'm a marionette again. He's got the strings, I know it- but I cannot look up and see him, I cannot move of my own will. My eyes are glassy, and I feel light. My wooden figure dances and skips and whirls across the stage....

Tom- I love you- I hate you- how – why- how could you- but every word is caught up in my wooden throat.

Finally my mouth opens, to scream, I think, but it's him speaking, through my mouth, in my voice, the words he wants me to say but never will.

"_Tom, I hate you. Leave me alone. You're evil, no one will ever hold you. Leave me."_

That's not truth, but he doesn't want to hear it- he throws me threw the air and my strings snap. I'm no longer his marionette.

"You will never make me leave," he says icily, "Let me show you something beautiful."

And he whispers- "Crucio."

And my mind is screaming and I 'm burning and I'm crying and sweating and cursing his name, Tom, oh, Tom, Tom....

And the fires die down and I settle into ash, and Fawkes flies out, like he did last time, but no more phoenix song- instead there is a violin, a violin played by a wretched child who has not put enough rosin on the bow. It cannot sound a pretty thing, it only squeaks and Tom is laughing and crying and I am sobbing his name again...

"Ginny! Wake up, sweetheart, it's only a dream!" Mum yells, and hugs me. Belatedly I realise I have tears on my cheeks. When she leaves I get ready to sleep again...not before I've seen that my sweater is green.


	7. A poem for a reviewer

_A poem for a reviewer---_

_Dedicated to Pippinfan25._

Ginny danced, her eyes glazed over

Strings attached to arms and legs

Promise me you will behold her

And will never look away

Riddle watched, his eyes aglow

As Ginny fell into the snow

Her blood, her blood of purest read

Fell like a ribbon from her head

Your wrists held back by rusty chains

You must bear witness to their pain

Tom locks his pain up inside

Ginny's pain she cannot hide

Although she curses through bleeding lips

And scratches with bloody fingertips

She cannot hope to contain her rage

While she's contained inside a cage

And when his laughter dies away

And Ginny's screams begin to fade

And shackles drop from your throbbing hands

You touch your hair- the dripping strands,

You feel hollow and cold inside

You cannot bear it, you must cry,

All of this you can't abide,

You feel tainted in your mind.

No, none of this will you abide,

You feel tainted in your mind.

_For you, my reviewer, my dearest, and shall the stunning silence ring like laughter through your world-weary ears._


	8. Cuts

_The pages torn out by bloody hands and stuffed in a bottle, thrown to the seas of Ginny's mind...here is Ginny's second diary._

Dearest fucking diary,

Nobody ever would think that little Ginny'd ever write in a diary, not after Tom. But if Tom's not around anymore, what is there to fear?

I used to have a diary. My first diary. This is my second, and probably not my last. You see, diary, I poured half of my soul into my first diary. I shall now pour the rest of it into this one.

For safekeeping. Not to keep it safe from anyone else, but to keep them safe from it.

Tom was my friend. My betrayer. My poison. The thing keeping me alive and slowly killing me. No one could ever understand. He used to possess me. And that is true in more ways than anyone could ever know. I was his possession.

Tom used to talk about my blood. My pure blood.

"_Surely my blood is not different from yours, Tom?"_

"_Oh, it's much different, Ginny." He took a small knife from his sleeve and cut himself._

"_It seems the same as yours, but not all if it is magical, it's diluted. But yours-' here he cut the girl's hand. She gasped, but more of surprise than pain, for she felt more numb when she was with Tom. _

"_Your blood is full of old magic. I can see it. Feel it." He held her palm up to his mouth and licked it, like a cat licking a wound._

"_I can taste it. It's as potent as serpent's venom." He let go of her hand gently. She cradled it, looking down at her hand. She was magical. Special. Different. Pure._

"_It's pure. Like you."_

I once dreamed that he cut me, told me about my blood, pure blood. I woke up, startled; then I crept to Hermione's trunk as if in a trance and took out one of her razors.

Not one of the ones she uses. Tom says her blood is dirty- I can't let it taint mine.

But a razor, a sharp, silver one; Tom always liked silver. I sneaked into my bed and shut all the curtains, and whispered, "Lumos," to my wand.

It lit up, and I carefully took the razor and slit my arm, just to see my blood. I gasped at the sight of it.

_Special. Different. Pure._

I washed the razor and put it back with Hermione's things. I know she doesn't use them often, but sometimes she needs to.

I never touched a razor again, and here I am, thirteen, still having never touched one. Tom's hold on me disappeared, or at least became more subtle, when the diary was ruined. I never purposely looked at my blood again. I was afraid that I might become like him, thinking my blood is any different or better than someone else's.

But every once in a while I get a papercut and I wonder....


	9. Sharing

_Disclaimer-for all chapters hence: Ginevra is Tom Riddle's, and Tom Riddle is JK Rowling's._

_A/n: to those who have reviewed that which is hidden from the world._

_Leafs-gurl999- I feel that you shall be here (reviewing) til the very end._

_Monikka- it is indeed my own. You have "fears", and I just write down strange rhymes for my reviewers._

_Ebony moonlight- I don't believe I ever thanked you for the review you gave me. it was possibly the best review I could have received._

"Ginny?" Hermione asked cautiously. Ginny was sitting alone on the floor of the room, quiet. Everyone else was downstairs, listening to the Order, but Hermione felt as though Ginny could not have fit in, even if she had wanted to.

"Yes?" came Ginny's voice, small and timid. Hermione shuddered.

Because she sounded like this when she talked to Tom Riddle in her sleep.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, shutting the door behind her softly and creeping p beside her. "You've been very distant lately."

Ginny did not reply for a moment. Then she turned to look at Hermione with hollow, hollow eyes. "What's the different between your blood and my blood?"

Hermione stared at her blankly, then glanced over to see where Ginny's hand rested. It was a diary. One she had bought shortly after her second year.

Hermione had found it strange that Ginny had wanted to own a diary after that, but she never pressed it. Obviously Tom was on her mind a lot- she dreamed of him nearly every night for a few months after that, and she had recently begun having those dreams again. So had she recorded things she remembered about him in there? Hermione didn't doubt it.

"Well," Hermione said slowly, thinking. She had thought about herself during their second year, when Draco had first called her a mudblood and she had discovered its meaning. "I suppose that it means that the blood in your veins is the same blood, in a sense, that was in the veins of witches and wizards since.... in essence, eternity." Hermione took a deep breath. She wasn't fond of this next part. "And my blood was never in the veins of any witch or wizard, ever."

Ginny nodded. "Why do you think the Malfoys and the Blacks care? Why them and not the Weaselys?"

Hermione tilted her head. "The Blacks, Sirius once said that they thought of themselves as almost royalty, like the Malfoys, and most families with entirely wizarding heritage. In a sense, they are- they are of purely wizarding blood. It's an honor thing."

Ginny's face was as stone. "Then have the Weaselys no honor?"

"The Weaselys do not believe that honor can be determined by the deeds of those who came before you, or by the purity of those who came before you, because purity comes from the heart," said Hermione simply.

A thought that came to her mind she did not mention- the heart is the organ that pumps the blood. Pure blood. Dirty blood.

"It must be a Slytherin thing," said Ginny half-heartened.

"No, no," said Hermione soothingly. "It's a thing that goes with certain mindsets. Pure blood is not a quality the Sorting Hat goes by- it's the other traits."

"Shouldn't all Slytherins be pureblood?" asked Ginny.

Hermione laughed, although she did not really find the matter amusing. "That's like saying all Goths should be white, Gin. Slytherin is an attitude- gothic is an attitude. Physical differences mean nothing."

"But they can affect your mind," added Ginny.

"No, they can't; what you think can affect your mind, but thinking something completely physical separates you- that warps a mind. Tom Riddle was warped, Ginny. Dwelling on him won't help you figure things out."

Ginny stared at Hermione. Hermione knew it pained Ginny to hear- and it pained Hermione to say. But Ginny needed to hear it.

Ginny put her face in her hands. She wasn't crying, but she was shaken. "Oh, Gin," whispered Hermione, wrapping her arms around Ginny. She had a younger sister, but they were as of two different worlds, and it was difficult. Her sister never had to deal with those things. Hermione felt closer to her best friend's sister to her own, and she often wondered about it. Was it betrayal?

No- it was only betrayal if she let herself think that. Another one of those blood things.

Finally Ginny and Hermione broke away. "Hermione," Ginny asked, "I'd like to see it. See that our blood is the same."

Hemione was a bit puzzled. "How?"

"Your- your razors."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock. She hadn't known Ginny knew.

"Oh- okay."

Hermione got them out and handed Ginny one, and took out one herself. It was her favourite one- the one she used for all her worst problems, in times of dire need. And Ginny was in dire need of reassurance.

"Ready?" Hermione asked.

Ginny nodded, tight-lipped.

They cut a slit on their arms. Their blood flowed out, calmly, red, bright red.

Hermione held her arm up next to Ginny's.

"Is it really so different?" Hermione asked. Ginny stared, from her blood to Hermione's.

"No," she whispered, voice hoarse. "It's not at all."

They sat in silence for a moment, before taking care of things. There is not enough silence in the world. It is never there when you need it to deaden the misery that surrounds you. And it is always there just when you need a sound.


	10. a Riddle unraveler

_I suppose I am in a poetic mood today... _  
  
It's storming outside, the deafening thunder

Is a contrast to the quiet roaring inside of me.

I look into a mirror

and the mirror shatters.

The pieces fly into my eyes and I shut them

I shall behold myself for all eternity.

For my reflection is not tainted by yours, and your eyes

Do not behold what I appear, only as I am.

I do not know what you are.

But I shall find you out.

That is my purpose that you shall not steal from me.

Ginevra Weasely-

A Riddle unraveler.


	11. Thoughts

_Disclaimer: I am beginning to think that perhaps these characters are not Rowling's....perhaps they exist within her mind- not created there, but born, for they truly seem to live._

_Ebony Moonlight: you are truly the best reviewer for this story- the reviews are eloquent and beautifully worded. I could hope for no better a review for this tale; they are well suited to one another. Your observations are a thrill to read._

It was dark. Poison would have burned through his veins, if he had possessed any. Instead, the fierce agony of it tore through his very existence, and he could not halt that. He would not have wanted to- he had spent so much of himself into ensuring that he would continue to be, throughout the ages that passed so slowly. The thought of revenge, the thought of success and of glory, mingled with her grief- that kept him going.

He would not have wanted to forget her...the girl whose fault it was that he was like this. A deplorable thing, only energy, and that he did not have much of. Negative energy.

He would think of her and his psyche would be thrown into the depths of pain. Oh, the thought of her was torture. His mind lingered only on her, her words, her face, the soul that he had fed upon, preying on her as though a vampire.

He had controlled her, yes, she had been his pet, his toy, plaything, his little doll. He had never meant for her to control him.

He doubted if she knew it. How could she know it? It would have been terrible if she had realised what power she had.

She had never wanted power. Maybe that's what drew him towards her in the first place.

He had wanted to speak with the Potter boy, and he had- so essential to his plans. But he had not wanted Ginny to talk to him again. He had lied to Harry about the reason- not because he found her boring, but because he didn't.

And because, well....it was hard to say.

She had been so frightened after she saw Harry with the diary, she had written furiously to him, demanding that he tell her what it was he told Harry. Had he spilled secrets? Had he told? No, he hadn't, not at all; he didn't want Potter to know Ginny even had the diary. She was afraid of Harry finding her out.

And Tm was afraid of Ginny finding him out.

I am Lord Voldemort. I am Lord Flight-of-death. Do not defy me, Ginevra Weasely.

No; he could not let her know him. Or his plans. And what she meant to them.

He had wanted to dispose of her, but he couldn't. He had half her soul in him. Half his soul in her. And the foolish Potter boy had believed him when he said that she was dying. He grew stronger while Ginny grew weaker? Laughable!

Ginny was not weak. She was weak at the time, but she would have become strong again. She would have been his.

His queen? His servant? His follower?

No.

His.

And he was hers.

Or he would have been.

He cursed in his mind, the venom ripping through him, the venom of his only friend he had ever had, who was dead, dead, all because of a silly little girl. He cursed that girl and tough it brought him much torment, it eased the tempest of hurt somewhere else, somewhere he didn't know he had.

Wanted to weep. Never cried before but he wanted to now.

Tears would have leaked from his eyes, if he had possessed any.


	12. Questions

_Ebony Moonlight- you have such prowess... it inspired me to write something else. I congratulate you on a vibrant vocabulary and perfectly placed cuss words._

Sleep....she was sleeping again. It was so cold out. She hugged herself and looked to the sky...

She shivered again- not from the familiar chill playing along her spine, but because of the sky. It was black. Autumn leaves drifted past her.

She walked, kept walking. She didn't have a clue where she was going, but then, did she ever? Wishing she had a jacket, she continued.

There he was. The one she was looking for. Although she really didn't know why she was looking for him, he wasn't someone she usually looked for.

But she walked up and stood beside him, anyway.

He spun around sharply and stared at her.

His eyes narrowed in recognition. "You."

She nodded her head numbly. He walked up to her and caught her chin is his hand haughtily.

"What are doing here?" he asked harshly.

She didn't answer. His face contorted in hate.

"Answer me!"

"I just came by, Riddle," she replied. He let go of her and slapped her across the face.

"You will not call me that. Do you understand?" he asked her. His voice was quiet, controlled and furious.

"Yes."

"Yes, my Lord!"

"Yes, my lord."

He calmed, satisfied, watching her with cat's eyes, lazy, observant, calculating. Waiting to pounce. "You came for a reason."

"Yes," she said. "Why?"

"That's none of your business."

"It is." She said firmly.

"None of your concern whatsoever."

"I just wanted to know-"

He cut her off, slapping her again, so hard she fell to the ground.

"Well, I'm not telling you," he spat with contempt. "Do you know what happened to me after Potter, everyone's golden boy, stabbed that diary? Do you know what I feel?"

"N-no," she whispered, her lips dry and her lower lip a bit bloody.

"This," he shouted, and he brought her towards him in a kiss.

The pain was instant and it never ceased; she writhed and squirmed against him, but he did not stop. She wondered why it had to be a kiss. The irony, bitter, bitter irony of it.

She felt as though her head would come spinning off her shoulders when he violently pushed her away.

It stopped and she felt relief. She had never experienced such pain- it was worse than the Cruciatus curse. She had felt that at the Dept. of Mysteries the previous year.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "Is it- constant?"

He did not answer.

"Oh, Tom," she began, almost crying.

He turned on her quickly. "I told you not to call me that!" he yelled, and she stumbled backwards.

"You will not call me that! Get it now, girl?" he yelled. His voice was not so calm now.

"Yes." She choked.

"Yes, my Lord!" he demanded.

"Yes, my lord." Her voice was so timid. She could barely breathe.

She turned to go, then called back, "To-my lord?"

"What?" he snapped.

"Why?" she pleaded. He turned and held up his wand.

"I told you I wasn't going to tell you," he said intensely.

Her eyes widened in fear and she began to back away from him, shaking her head silently.

A twisted grin besmirched his once handsome, now haunted features.

"Crucio."

And although it wasn't as bad as what she had just felt, it was horrible, and she screamed and screamed as her muscles felt s though burning and she wanted, needed it to stop; she would die, gladly-

And it stopped but she did not stop begging, why why, why, why....

Right before the other girl in the room woke her up, he hissed menacingly into her ear:

_"Don't ask thoughtless questions, Mudblood."_


	13. Mudblood

_A/n: sorry...I knew someone'd be confused. Hermione was the witch of last chapter, Monikka. I'm glad I inspired you, and I'm sorry if it will be hard to write, but I'm sure you'll manage it. If you don't post it on your homepage, would you tell me it? I'd love to hear it..._

Ginny shook Hermione awake quickly. Hermione was screaming and crying and...her lower lip was bleeding.

"What's wrong?" she asked her. She couldn't believe no one else had heard her.

"N-nothing," Hermione mumbled.

Ginny's face turned to indifference. "Liar," she whispered. "You said Tom's name."

Hermione looked up at Ginny, still shaking uncontrollably. "O-oh,' she managed. "Did I?"

"Yes." Ginny crossed her arms. "What would you be dreaming of him for? He isn't yours."

"No, you're right Ginny." Hermione said softly, lying down again to sleep. "He's not."

_And thank god,_ she thought before falling asleep.

Ginny stood beside Hermione's bedside, staring at the sleeping girl, ugly thoughts coursing through her.

_I could kill her, _Ginny thought contemptuously_. It would be so easy. One slit with the razor, right across her throat...she'd never stand a chance._

She suddenly froze. She had been walking towards Hermione's things, her razors! What was she doing?

She could've killed her. She almost did.

"Oh, gods," Ginny breathed, clutching her head and sliding to the floor. Why? Why would she think that?

_But Tom would never wanted Hermione_, she soothed herself. _ Tom tried to kill Hermione, with the basilisk._

She crawled into her bed and fell asleep very quickly.

"Oh, gods," she murmured. She had never been there before, but she already hated the place. Black-blue sky. Cold.

"Oh, gods," she repeated, sliding to the ground and shutting her eyes against it. Black. Cold. Like Tom's diary. Like Tom's soul.

She could've cleansed it, she knew, she could've cleansed it.

Why didn't she?

She started running.

She knew where she was...and she knew who she would find there.

"Tom," she said at last.

He turned around, his eyes full of misery.

"Leave."

"She didn't come here, did she?"

He cleared his throat. "She interrogated me. On your behalf."

"I'm sorry about that."

He shook his head. "No reason to be."

She walked over to him but he stepped away.

"You'll never come here again." He said sternly, and she shook her head.

"How will I find you again, Tom?" she called.

He turned around calmly and hit her in the face. Startled, she fell.

"That's what you did to the mudblood," she cried.

Then she realised what she had said.

He was looking at her with an unreadable expression, then his face knotted itself into an appearance of horrible sadism.

"Then you of course realise that I see you as the same, blood traitor," and he walked away.

Ginny crumpled and fell crying t the ground. When she looked up she saw that the landscape had dissolved. He would never let her back there, where they could speak as equals.

Now they would meet in her mightmares.

In her sleep, she was once again to fall victim to him. She was at his mercy entirely.

And mercy he had not.


	14. Obsession

_ This is a song I wrote last night, August 22nd, 2004, about this story. If you use it anywhere else without asking, I'll scratch out your eyes with my fingernails and thus leave scars on the inside of your eyelids. See, Monikka? Fanfiction followes me everywhere...._

_I'm an aspiring musician, as I don't think writing will pay for me to go to live in Iceland. I actually do write a lot of songs (and yes, a lot of them are inspired by my fanfiction!!) I got the idea to put it up from Monikka's review...and hey, I like my songs._

Your image

Is burned into the back of my eyelids

I can't even begin to exorcise it

I'm weak otherwise I'd try to hide it

Your words

Are ringing mockingly through my ears

Vampiric, how you prey on my fears

And still I can see you trough my tears

With me, you're an

Obsession

Treat me like a

Possession

Reprieve, it's a

Confession

I just can't help myself

Ooh, I keep obsessing

And still you keep me guessing

I'm on my knees confessing

Cos I just can't help myself

I'm a marionette;

You keep me in control by the threads

Your voice is echoing through my head

I'm dwelling on the things that you said

I'm like a doll

Keep my on a shelf so I don't fall

I'm still lying at your feet after it all

You see, you're an

Obsession

It's demonic

Possession

Oh please, it's a

Confession

I just can't help myself

And you're the sweetest sin

I feel I'm giving in

I'll be your puppet queen

The best you've ever seen

And all I see is you

What you say must be true

I've never loved before

I only want you more

You're an

Obsession

You're an

Obsession

I just can't help myself.

_Gin&Toxin forever...an eternity, whether you like it or not....because they're stuck that way._


	15. Lying

_a/n: If you liked my song, or anything I say is a song, and would like to hear it, email me and I'll try to see if I can send you the sound file for it. _

It was morning, and it was raining. Storming. That did not improve Ginny's mood.

She dragged her broken, battered body out of the bed and walked over to the door, turning back to see Hermione.

She wasn't in bed.

And Ginny's diary was gone.

Ginny blanched and ran down the stairs of the house that was once Sirius' screaming, "Hermione!"

Hermione looked up at the sound and subconsciously slid the diary under the seat.

Ginny came into view, looking tired and fearful, her doe eyes widened. "Give it back," she panted, clutching at her chest.

"Give what back?" Hermione asked calmly. Ginny's face contorted in a rage not unlike Riddle's. The resemblance was frightening.

"You know what!" she shrieked.

Remus Lupin walked in, an eyebrow raised. "What is going on?" he asked wearily.

Ginny and Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Absolutely nothing," Hermione said, composed.

"Liar! Give it back!" yelled Ginny.

Hermione turned to look at her serenely. "I don't know what you're talking about," she remarked coolly.

"What is going on?" Remus repeated, now suspicious.

Hermione shrugged and began to read a book.

Ginny ran down the rest of the way and said, in a controlled and shaking voice, "My diary. Where is it?" she demanded.

"What diary is this?" questioned Remus, looking at Hermione, whose face was scrawled upon with innocence.

"I think she's referring to the diary she's had for a few years," puzzled Hermione.

"Why would you want to take it?" he asked Hermione. Hermione looked up, her eyes wide and clear. "I wouldn't," she replied. "I suppose if I did, it'd be to see what it is she's been writing about. But I don't want to know any of it, he's too scary."

"Who?"

"Tom."

Remus did a doubletake. "Who?"

"Tom Riddle. She dreams about him all the time."

"Shut up!"

Hermione and Remus looked at Ginny, startled. Ron and Harry, obviously hearing the commotion, ran into the room. they stopped and stared.

"You stop talking about him!" Ginny screamed. "And give it back!"

"I don't have it!" Hermione said back, her voice rising. It hurt her to deceive Ginny, but deception was what she need most at that time.

"I know you do, who else would!" Ginny screeched. "Give it here, you- you- you mudblood!"

"Ginny!" Harry yelled, his eyes behind his glasses large and unbelieving. Ron's jaw had dropped, and Remus, after the initial shock, strode forward and took Ginny by the shoulders. "That's enough," he said briskly. She was surprised at his power and grace, like a wolf –oh, well, then not surprised.

It did not faze her.

She shoved him off and cried, her splashing tears on her nightgown, "Get the hell away from me, all of you!"

She hurried away and up the stares, and everyone stared at her.

Hermione didn't, though. Her eyes fell to the floor. _I'll be the one to save you, Ginny_, she thought, the words echoing in her mind. _One way or another, I'll set you free._


	16. Worries

_Dearest fucking diary, _

_He's screaming, every night in my head. He screams my name. Hermione thinks it's all nonsense, a lot of silly dreams. But they aren't dreams. They're there, in my head. Because memories don't die. They have to be forgotten. And he's still there. I just can't forget him. I wouldn't want to._

_Dearest fucking diary,_

_Ron's worried about me. He stops me every so often and I look into my brother's tired eyes and he bites his lip and asks, "Are you okay, Gin?"_

_I nod. What else would I do?_

_He frowns and presses on. "Are you sure you're okay, Gin?"_

_It always seems to irritates me, although I can't imagine why....why he can't leave me alone!_

_I was talking to Harry about it, and how Ron is overprotective, Mum worries to the point of tears, Bill and Charlie both visit and spend that much time lecturing and nagging me, and Harry nodded and said "We're all worried about you. You know that, don't you? That we love you?"_

_And he smiled. Harry smiling for the purpose of smiling is a beautiful thing to behold, like spring after and icy winter that you thought would never end. It lifts your spirit, and suddenly you can breathe in the oxygen again. He really should smile more often. that's a feeling I'd like to have more of. I'd really like it if he smiled more often._

_Dearest fucking diary, _

_Tom knows. He's worried I'll forget him for Harry. Well, 'worried' isn't the best term. He was mad at me, so mad his voice was shaking, and he lifted his wand and whispered, "Crucio." It hurts...but it hurts even worse when he does it, because I love him._

_Oh, I love him...his porcelain face, his sea blue eyes, his cherry lips, his elegant eyebrows, his raven hair, the soft skin on his neck, his flawless, strong hands, the feel of his heartbeat when he's taken his shirt off...I love it when he touches me..even when he's hitting me._

_Which he's been doing often lately._

_Dearest fucking diary,_

_I can't believe I never got it before....that Sirius is dead. He's really gone. I never understood through and through until just now the reason behind Harry's lacking gait, and his cold, unresponsive manner. He's a rosebud surviving the spring frost whose sun has just left. Sirius is dead. Good God._

_Dearest fucking diary,_

_Well, cussing at you doesn't do me any good. I'm not really angry, I'm ecstatic._

_I really do love it when Tom touches me...I love his hands. So strong. So experienced. Curious. Fearless. Relentless._

_When I first found the diary, he never touched me like that. I was young and too innocent, much too innocent. He never—kissed me with such ardor. I could feel him, his passion, his fury, everything that makes him, well, Tom._

_But then, fucking diary, he told me how he kissed Hermione and I was lucky he didn't kiss me like that. He said he brought her pain and yet she still cared. She still worried._

_He makes it sound as though she worried for me. I know that she's really worried for him. How dare she?! He's mine. I'm his. If he wanted her, he wouldn't've had me set the basilisk on her._

_If she bloody comes near him again, I'll rip her throat out._

Hermione took a deep breath, in turmoil. She wanted to drop that diary but she knew she had to continue. Holding back tears and fighting a scream, she looked to the pages once more- but she was cut off.

"You said you didn't have it."

She spun around and halted. How had Lupin managed to come into the room, stand so close to her...? She could have kissed him if she'd wanted to.

She considered it...wait!! What was she thinking?

Remus sighed and sat beside her. Her heart beat faster as the loveseat moved with his added weight. His added weight...

Hermione's eyes darted nervously in their sockets. Her head lifted slightly and her gaze lightly grazed his before falling quickly to the small book in her hands.

"Why did you lie earlier?"

Hermione was still and silent as a stone statue in the depths of winter.

He sighed and moved closer to her, taking her shoulders in his hands. Hermione's thoughts brought forth a phrase of Ginny's...

_I love his hands. So strong. So experienced. Curious. Fearless. Relentless._

In his gentle way he forced her eyes to meet his.

"Hermione," he began, in his deep voice. It echoed through her chest and her heart throbbed.

Why? she wondered. Is it because...? He shouldn't be doing this to me!

"Y-yes?" she asked, her voice below a whisper.

"I know you're worried," he said quietly. "We all are. But in trying to save Ginny from the flood, I fear the current will sweep you in."

She wanted to collapse against his chest and sob, clutching at his shirt in desperation. But she didn't dear tempt herself.

"She sometimes screams," Hermione choked on her tears.

"Harry sometimes cries in his sleep," Remus said simply. Hermione's vision blurred; she threw herself into his arms howling and he comforted her as best he could.

Looking up into his eyes, she realised that there was no denying that she couldn't save Ginny.

With a jolt she realised there was no denying her feelings for Re-Lupin, either.

Well, even if it was futile, she'd help Ginny. She'd have to help.

Even if it was inevitable, she'd keep herself from falling in love with Lupin. She mentally kept herself from nipping at his neck.

Well, in either case, she'd try.


	17. Disperse

I gave you my heart

_Tom, I loved you_

But you didn't want that, did you?

_You only wanted power; it's all you ever wanted._

You threw it back into my face

_All I ever wanted was to love you._

and it shattered.

_It's all your fault I'm ruined._

Shards, little pieces- starry

_Like the sky at midnight in the cold, cold winter..._

Diamond dust filled with moonlight, refracting, reflecting-

_Light bends as you bend truth._

From the clumsy stitches holding my head onto my elegant neck I pick a loose thread and pull it out.

_Don't fear, I lost my head ages ago._

Look the needle in the eye and slip it through tenderly.

_The tenderness you should have showed me- you said you loved me!_

I attempt to sew my pieces back together

_My fingers fail; they aren't yours._

Patch it, polish it-

_Make it shine as bright as my glimmering, shimmering tears._

But the silver tip pierces my finger's flesh

_That's your doing, isn't it?_

A single crimson drop of blood,

_You like blood far too much to be sane, Tom._

My blood, purest blood, pure as my intentions and now tainted

_You always liked my pure blood. Is it pure as it is or is it all in your head?_

Poisoned by the venom of betrayal-

_I didn't betray the basilisk; you should know that by now._

Your treachery

_But you betrayed me, didn't you?_

Soaks the lace handkerchief scarlet.

_I was pure white, not pure crimson, not my blood, but my soul, and you stained it. My imbrued hands curse your carelessness._

You're my needle, my bane, you dwell within my veins.

_And within my head and my dreams and my diary and my pen..._

Like the gathering of honey on a serpents' fang,

_Like your cotton candy cottonmouth tongue, you spew lies like a sick child and sick you are, Tom...you're so sick...my Lucifer, fallen angel cast to hell, my Lord of the Flies, Lord Flight-from-Death..._

My secrets swell, then spill.

_You're the Asmodeus of Hogwarts, I'm wedded to bloody Asmodeus. But that would make me Lilith, wouldn't it? She who tempted Eve and Adam,her brother and former lover...are they Hermoine and Ron and Harry? Lilith killed little children--you made me try to kill those muggleborns--_

You promised, swore to God alone with him and I as witness, one

_God damn you. You're damned, the King of the Damned. I'm Queen of the Damned, it never ends..._

On a hill in a lightning storm the thunder beckoning

_Don't tempt God-- you tempt me enough already._

That you wouldn't, but you have.

_How could you do it, love?_

And I see now my heart was not the only thing for you to break.

_Promises, my spirit, my soul, my mirror- take your pick. I odn't much caer anymore._

I trusted you and now I am not sure-

_I hate you. I love you. I curse you and I need you. Damn yuo and damn me with you. This isn't Hell; this is Purgatory. Light the white candles, Hermione; pray for our souls._

A true love does not make one stare into a black mirror of one's own demise

_I've died...Hermione hangs black silk over the mirrors for Sirius, she shall do it for me. A black mirror. a white mirror. All mirrors show me your face. Do they show you mine?_

and instill doubt.

_Maybe we should think about this first--_

Disperse and leave me in peace; for you have failed.

_And I have failed with you. Wait for me! Wherever you go, I must follow, for I am bound to you. Us together. Inseparable. Oroboros. Jormungand, eating his tail, the serpent. Loki's son. Loki is you, Tom...he caused the destruction of all Middle Earth. Sigyn, his loyal wife....that is me. I love you, Tom. Don't you ever leave me, damn it. Don't you ever leave._


	18. Seas

_Forgive me, my love, for I have waited too long..._

_I know that I have not updated lately and I beg you pardon me, I've been busy tied up and dancing to the sirens' song of my studies..._

_Leafs-gurl999- you are the most loyal one there is, you do not hesitate to come to my aid..._

_Charm12- Perhaps short is not a bad thing..._

_Ireth- my dear, of course...even Tom deserves a second chance at that..._

_Deviant- 'fraid not._

_Angela- I'm quite sorry...it's been a while, has it not?_

_Herentas- You happen to be one of my favourite authors on this site, thank you for reviewing my tale._

_Kittybro- but Kitty, this is gin&toxin, not gin&tonic, for Tom shall heal no one, not even himself._

_Ebony- Once again, my stories wilt when held against your reviews to them. I pale at the way you word your feelings, it is truly a pleasure to read._

_Tessie- It is deep, yes, and dark...like the sea...like Tom's eyes._

_Monikka- you would very much like Rika's songs. Now if only she'd let me send them to you. I hope that you have everything about the story in place? Be prepared to lose yourself again..._

Dearest fucking diary,

Tom's eyes are blue. Blue like the ocean. They're deep as a sea, too...Tom's eyes are a sea...

They pull me under and I sink, but his hands catch me—

_Strong, powerful hands. Long fingers, calloused fingertips, probing, searching, questing...gently pressing into my flesh, electrifying—_

--catch me and touch me, guide me. He leads me down to our underwater stage and softly kisses me—

_His mouth finds mine and he forces my lips apart. I only try to keep them together because he likes defeating me; false defeat, it pleasures him. A challenge; I present an easy challenge and how he rewards me! I'd never want him to not succeed, though...I like the taste of him, like sugar and cigarettes, so bitter, so sweet..._

--kisses me. When we break away, I blush and he laughs gaily and slips his arms around my waist. We skip into the hall and I look up at him, mouth in a perfect 'o' of surprise but he's already gone, laughing, and the sound doesn't seem so sweet anymore---

_Soft kisses on my neck, near my fluttering pulse, but now his mouth opens slightly and I feel his teeth, hard against my skin, and pain, again and again- he laughs and his hands reach up and run through my hair, then tug at it. My body twists in terror and he straddles me, still laughing cruelly—_

--I feel the familiar tug of strings on my hands and I'm jerked out of place, dancing, skipping, my head lolling without support grotesquely, led by an invisible, inaudible force...

Oh, no. Ha. No, I can see him all right, hear him. Look at his hands tilt and pull the braces, watch him deftly maneuver that threads so that I'm sent twirling on my delicate shoes, my skirts swirling around my legs like the icing on a wedding cake. Listen to him laugh at me, can't you hear him saying "Ginny darling, do you like this? Do you like it, do you?" My wooden jaw drops and he grins when I am unable to speak.

Then, with a flourish he pulls the braces into the air and the nails slide out of my hands. I trip on my toe and crumple to the ground.

Holding my hand up to the filtered light, I can see the holes from where the nails once were. They have stopped bleeding. I am still inspecting them when he takes my hands and pulls me to my feet.

"Are these real?" he asks me. I nod, speechless, and he narrows his eyes. "They could be illusions."

I shrug. They don't hurt.

His face contorts into his Flight-from-Death, sardonic smile. "Tell me," he begins, "does this hurt?"

And he slides his thumbnail into the cut and teases the skin. I cry out and he says, "They're real."

"Damn it, Riddle, that bloody well hurts!" I protest, and he glances at the palm of my hand and says with mild interest, "It's bleeding again."

"I wonder why," I grumble, and he lifts the palm up to hi mouth and laps up the blood like a cat. I am fascinated. Then he kisses me. I can taste blood, my blood, on his lips.

He seizes my wrists with a sudden change of mood and drags me into a room. There is a canopy bed with sheets of black silk and he throws me on and he kisses me again, his breath hot, and I'm gasping for air but Tom does not believe in me breathing in anything but him....

_He should ask before he touches me like that...he should warn me...he should be aware of how it hurts. Or maybe he is and I have mistaken his passion or sadism yet again. Ribbons and lace tangled around my ankles how it binds and how I'm bound, how I desire so much to see the golden Sun once more..._

He bites the buttons off the dress and spits them onto the floor, he rips the cords on my corset to shreds in frenzied fire, his fingers scald my skin as the knowledge of my sin boils out of my mind and when he pushes me down my eyes roll into the back of my head as the soul, the spirit of innocence smokes and writhes and evaporates to be gone from myself...that which is cherished shall lie within no more.

Maiden raped like a barren field and used, left battered, but that would be pain, and although this is against my will I am not harmed....I am burning away but his anesthetic of sheer fancy lies over my eyes and do I see the craving, simply physical? You fool me into thinking you need me....deception your name and yet I forget it for the while....

Then I spiral up from the foaming frothy sea, seeing the lights below I wish to turn back to you, but I don't dare....

When I reached the sand I cough, licking the salt from my wounds I wait, for healing never comes easily. Like a god you rise from the ocean and stride towards me and grasp my fingers and send me flying in an overwhelming kiss once more...I left far too soon...

This night will not end well. It never does.

_And your hands are cold now, when I remember them warmly and your nails hurt, but I don't protest, I am foolish. I let you take what is mine and therefore what is yours and it's a devil dance in the dark and your lips taste of cigarettes and mine of brine and together we sail through the sky around the new moon and plummet, or feathers disintegrating, into the depths...._

_This night will not end well. It never does._


	19. Desperate

_A/n: I haven't had reviews for a while...I daresay they make a pleasant surprise. I'll be happiest when my other regulars return._

_Leafs-gurl99- I will at some point update my other stories, like Reprieve, and put up a one-shot (a really long one) but I've been lazy for the past month._

_Ben's Little Micky- I think you hit it right on with your ideas on it...you were correct. I'm glad it touched you...it touches many..._

_Monikka- I really missed you. Yes, my songs are mine and mine alone...heehee...I wrote some I may put up here, can I send them to you first?_

I felt myself falling...

I fall so often now, it doesn't seem as though I'd be a Dark Lord, does it? But it's sort of funny how the stronger you get, the more pronounced your weaknesses become. Actually that's not funny. That's sick. But I never said I thought there was a difference. I'm morbid like that.

Ginny catches me when I fall. I wish she wouldn't. It' terribly irritating. I don't like her reaching out and touching my hands. Well, I like the feel of her hands all right- on my back, my shoulders, my chest- but not like some sweet angel. I don't like thinking of her as an angel. A fallen angel, that's more like it. One cast from heaven to lie in my arms in chains. I like that idea. I have always liked it.

She's weak. But that makes her strengths, though subtle, more potent. She doesn't have a damn clue about how strong she is. I like to pretend I have control over her. Cat and mouse games I play with yours truly. Raping her is just a way to reassure myself.

But if she decides she doesn't need me...what then? I'm falling, and she's my safety net. What if she wasn't there?

_Fallen angel, valentine_

_You're on a leash, you're chained, you're mine_

_Take you, kiss away your tears_

_You'll confirm my greatest fears_

_You're one thing I will not lose_

_But I don't know how to choose_

_Between what I am and what I need_

_I need to breathe, I need to bleed_

_I am the Dark Lord, Flight-from-Death_

_Yet I need you like my next breath._

I have controlled every aspect of my life carefully. I have controlled countless others. I swore long ago that I would have only one law, one Lord: myself. Then Ginny came through every defense and tore my walls down and ruled over everything, whether she knew it or not.

I'll never forget that time in the Chamber...she sat beside my throne like an attendant and laid her head in my lap. I smirked and danced down at her. Little kitten. If she'd been any other girl...if she hadn't been so young...I might've forced her red head between my legs just to see her shamed.

Innocence knows no shame; it's pathetic. Evil shows no shame...but I have _felt_ shame. I felt shame when I slid my hand up Ginny's leg under her skirt, and heard her confusion when she asked, "Why are you doing this?"

I felt shame when I ignored her protests in the minutes that followed. I shut my eyes against the disgrace when she hooked her arms around my neck and screamed in pain, and bit my lip against it when she cried out her pleasure.

I suppose after that first time I could've not touched her again, if she had never tempted me. But after that, she wanted more. She'd come to me late at night and kiss me, and put herself closer to me, and beg me, "Please, just once more." And always I put myself through another night that makes my senses simply die of ecstasy and makes my mind die of horror in my mental torment. She is so young...who am I to take so much from her?

Some lovers, decent lovers, leave those they love just so that they can watch them live happy, free lives...but I can't bear the thought of her in peace and I in pain, I just burn up with jealousy.

Not long ago she came to me, but she didn't want her body to be my temple for that night, my sacred cathedral to pray in, to dwell in. And I agreed, I felt relief. She sat beside me like a puppy and laid her head in my lap. My thoughts were forced back to that night when I would not take advantage of her like that. She was far too pure...

But no more. Even if I did agree with her, part of my mind tingled as an ugly grin crossed my face and I made her put her head down, and I laughed at her tears as she struggled and objected but I mad her go through with it anyway, and I enjoyed every moment of it, even when I hated it and myself for doing it to her. Afterwards, I let her fall to the ground weeping. How I had used her. How I abused her, made her struggle and lose to me. I kicked her maliciously and said, "Silly girl, all you are to me now is a whore."

I know it hurt her, but at this point I don't much care.

Other times I go to her, shaking inside and lost. It's then that I'm not the Dark Lord, I'm Tom Riddle; poor Tom Riddle. Parentless, abandoned. I need her then. She's startled, but she lets me put my head against her shoulder and cry. Really, I cry. I know how. She hushes me and soothes me, stroking my hair, even when my tears soak her shirt.

She likes it when my tears fall into her cupped hands. We look down at them and I don't understand how it is that she likes them so much.

"They're beautiful," she'll whisper, and kiss the rest of them off my face. I guess that's the way it is; we're desperate for things we find in the other.

For her, it's my shining tears.

For me, it's her pure blood.

I'm starving for blood like that. I'd kill for it. Sell my soul for it. Maybe die, if that's what it takes. I guess I'm just that desperate.


	20. Devil Dance

_Disclaimer: I am only autumn. Then I will thrive and flourish, but after that, I must wither. I cannot own anything, cannot own something so pure._

_a/n: The Remus and Hermione is not a large part of the story but it is there, nonetheless, although not in the way one may think._

_leafsgurl- it is rather difficult. he won't- hold- still!_

_Monikka: Sense is not always a good thing, dear._

_Herentas: Even your reviews sound better than the tale and I know those weren't betad._

_Angela- Wait no longer, I am back to being faithfully a writer._

_Riddled-Slytherin-Detailed, but illogical._

_Kittybro- Tragedy's imperfections are quite perfect, no?_

_Eowyns elixure- I shall indeed. bows_

_Pippinfan25- Oh no, not you again. (snickers)_

_Spasstik Gurl- Unfortunate is one of my favourites, too. The phrase, however, is made from two very common words that I strung together for the song a while ago, for I wrote the song long before the story, which I came up with before I discovered this site. Sadly, I have discovered that I am not alone in this comparison, and not everyone is so kind about it, as you reminded me._

_Ebony Moonlight- It's astounding how you use everyday, trial, trivial words like 'braided' and 'dark' in your reviews and make them take on a knew and better meaning that I would like to snatch up and put into a lantern to light my way during the hard, crisp autumn nights when I wander. I like to read your reviews because you always point out the things I am quite proud of that most people seem to overlook. You have an eye for detail that far surpasses my own. Thank you. _

One night you will die

That is not tonight

You won't see the day

But that's not now, I pray

That's not now I pray.

When you gamble with the devil, you lose. What you lose, I don't know. Your life? Maybe. Your virginity? Perhaps. Your soul? That sounds more like it.

When you step into a circle of toadstools and dance with the faeries, it's said that you'll be stuck there till dawn.

I tried to save Ginny from Tom Riddle....I tried to stop her from dancing with the Devil.

In doing so I fear I shall bring about her ruin.

I can just picture it now; the Prince of Darkness, of Night and the New Moon, polished black shoes and black tuxedo, his hair blown into his eyes, his gaze downcast and his milk-white face unreadable. In his hands, a single white rose. He'd twiddle it like a baton in his fingertips, managing never to prick his fingers on the thorns.

Then the Swan Princess with her Full Moon complexion will hurry in, her dress barely on and urge me to help her. "Hurry!", she'll say.

My fingers will fumble as I lace up the bodice. She'll stand in front of a mirror and I behind her shall see her reflection and mine, pale as well.

She'll have stars in her eyes and cherry-red lips, and I'll tug at the laces, pulling until my fingers bleed.

"Tighter!" she'll insist, and I'll pull harder and tie it up.

She'll spin around in her glory, her layered skirts and petticoats frothing like seafoam. I'll take out a poisoned comb and pick carefully through her autumn hair.

She'll slip into her white silk dancing shoes and run out breathlessly, eager to join him and transform from Late Autumn to Winter. she used to love late autumn, I 'll think mournfully, but now she rushes to greet him. How I hate him for doing this to her.

"Wait," I'll call, and pick up a black rose from the table. Before she takes it and tucks it into her hair, I've pricked my finger on the thorn. How she manages to not pierce her skin, I'll never know. The black rose, she holds, is Tom, and only she may hold him without pain, I suppose.

She'll rush out and I'll follow; I'm her last Lady-In-Waiting, for he has killed all the others.

She'll leap into his arms and he'll clasp her fingers with his left hand, his right dropping the rose and brushing her hair out of her eyes. The rose becomes untangled from her hair and falls beside his and his hand will come to rest lightly on her waist. The fingers on her left hand will run through his hair and settle on his neck, and he'll nod at he coldly to start the music.

Picking up my own skirts I'll quickly run to the roses and pick them up. At my touch they transform into a viola and a bow- the black one is the bow and the white one, representing Ginny, is the white rose, Ginny. None of those thorns touched me. I smiled briefly, knowing she still loved me, for she would not harm me. Naturally, Ginny'd make the music y Tom's commands, like the viola and bow. I lift them and play- but roses don't lose their thorns and my finger's clutching the bow are soon bleeding. I look at Tom, who looks away, towards Ginny. He does not forgive.

Tom and Ginny are dancing to the sickly sweet music I create. Clouds and mist and sparkles surround the fair crescent moon against the lush black crushed velvet sky.

When the soft light of the moon illuminates his eyes, there are unshed tears in them. I almost drop the roses in shock. Ginny's tears slide down her face freely, and suddenly Tom kneels on one knee in front of her. The clouds part and light falls on the pair of them as I watch in envy from my place in the shadows, unnoticed.

Tom extracts a black silk scarf from his jacket and waves it in front of his hand, pulling from the air a diamond ring, twinkling, glittering, reflected in Ginny's hopeful eyes.

He'll put it on her finger and I stare at her in fear. But-no, Ginny!- she accepts, holding her hand up before her face, staring at it in awe.

Then I'll know to play a lilting, happy tune so that they can dance quickly around and around and beat a circle into the grass like the children of night that they are. And I will open my mouth, my voice gone, and I will reach for Ginny, helpless as my hands go through her. I can picture myself in my minds' eyes...all that they can hear is my music, so I must keep playing. I will stand. I will see the end before it comes. I will alone survive it as Ginny falls. And I will do nothing.

_Oh, Ginny...forgive me!_


	21. Birdie

_Disclaimer- I claim many things. I claim to have danced with Dracula in my dreams and ridden a black mare when everyone else was asleep by the seashore. But I do not dare claim anything but my words, that I clutch like scraps of an old love note. Tom and Ginny are not mine._

_A/n: I'd like to thank everyone who was so patient with me, and I'd especially like to thank Ebony Moonlight for defending me when I'd received a personal attack, and Whitney for being the only VH fan of mine to have read any HP, and PinkyTheSnowman for contacting me about my penname and still liking me. And Azaelia? You got me writing again, though I may take an eternity to write again._

"Ginny. Ginny, wake up, it's just a dream!"

Hermione's voice, then. Hermione's hands on my shoulders shaking me awake.

"What?" I asked, cracking my eyes open.

Tears were streaming down her face. I was startled by it. "Hermione, what's wrong?" I cried. She looked away, holding her knuckles to her mouth, shaking her head.

"Hermione-?"

She jumped up from beside me and left the room. I stared after her, but she didn't come back, or talk to me for the rest of the day. I had just looked down at the dainty ring twinkling on my finger.

Now I lie here on my back on my bed waiting for sleep to take me, holding my hand up and squinting in the dark at the pretty little thing, twisting it around and around my finger humming a tune like a little girl who has been kept occupied so that the adults can sit alone and talk, leaving me out.

That's infuriating. I'm so very angry right now, and with that in my mind, I fall into a restless sleep. Restless, that is, because I don't exactly rest when I'm sleeping…

After yet another harrowing ordeal- and sorry if I sound bitter, or rather, I'm not sorry if I sound bitter- I finally calm down and the screaming of Tom's name ends. I look up at him, his hair lank with sweat and mine mangled and tangled around my head. The skin on my shoulders is raw from where he gripped me, and even though last night he was all grace and gentle caresses, this night he's very impulsive and reckless. Oh, doesn't it ever end? Apparently not.

"Ginny," he pants, looking at me with satisfaction, then confusion. "What's wrong with you now?"

"Nothing," I mope. He rolls his eyes, which doesn't exactly shock me, since he seems to do a lot of that.

"Well, you didn't seem so sulky a moment ago," he says stubbornly, smoothing his shirt down.

"Tom, you know, that wasn't exactly easy," I grumble, looking down at the Earth. He follows my gaze and there is a silence for a while.  
"You know, that's ours," he remarks suddenly.  
"Yeah, so you say."  
"You don't sound convinced."  
"Maybe it's ours in this little mirror-world of yours," I counter, glaring at him, "but you know damn well that Harry won't let you take it."

He slapped me. Wow, now that's a surprise. Not.

"We climbed up here just so you could look down at the world where we rule and pathetic muggles don't exist," he said, sullen, "and now you're talking about Harry. Well, Harry doesn't love you."  
"So what? Niether do you."  
"I'm marrying you, aren't I?"

I roll my eyes back at him. Slap.

"Touch me again, Riddle, " I growl. "And I swear, I swear to God…"

He grabs my shoulders again and pushes me down against the tree's trunk, slamming me against it violently. "Have it your way," he said curtly and walked off the edge of the bough. And now the tree is gone and I'm sitting in the middle of a black- thing.

_Whatever, Tom…have it your own way…_

_I guess you only liked me because I look so pretty decked out in jewels, hanging over my body, dripping, as I lay in a sea of molten gold and dance, come hither, and then get the hell away._

_And I spin around in a gilded bird cage, singing like a captured pretty thing of yours. Why does the caged bird sing? Not sure. Maybe it just knows that if it wants to stay alive, it has to sing for you._

_I sink to my knees in despair when my throat is hoarse, leaning against the metal bars, no comfort._

_But soon I'll feel my clipped wings pulled up and my feathers ruffled, and the caged bird with be singing again. God be damned so I can go to heaven, please…_

Little bird, little bird, won't you fly, fly away?

Little bird, little bird, won't you fly away?

Little bird, birdie, why don't you fly away from here?

He won't let me…

I am so confused

I can't do the things I thought I used to

He wont' let me…

I'm dirty, so abused

I can't do the things that keep me from dying…

My wings are bound and broken

I'm held down, I'm pinned-

Tortured for my sins….

_So why does that crazy bird sing? Is it saving itself, or is it really happy? And how could I ever be happy when I love to fly so much?…_

**I have a few pictures I've drawn of Tom and Ginny, and though they aren't the best, I could send you some if you'd like.**


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